


Where Souls Disappear

by threerings



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxious Quentin Coldwater, Blow Jobs, Character Study, Dom Eliot Waugh, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Dom Eliot Waugh, Hand Jobs, Light BDSM, M/M, POV Quentin Coldwater, Post S4, Semi-Public Sex, Soft boys enjoying their happy ending, Sub Quentin Coldwater, for all your end of season anxiety needs, smut and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 12:38:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18343850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threerings/pseuds/threerings
Summary: In a time after the Monster, when they are finally together, Quentin and Eliot celebrate.  In their own way.  On a public balcony.An exploration of the inside of Quentin's head during sex, and in particular when in a submissive state of mind.Words were hard for him during sex.  They spun through his head at the speed of light, but they got trapped behind his lips when he was in bed with someone.  It made things frustrating for him sometimes: wanting to give feedback, to comment on his partner’s activities, and not feeling able to.  Especially at times like this, delicious times when he was all passivity, being done-to instead of doing.





	Where Souls Disappear

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this so close to tonight's episode and I have no idea what's coming, so this is either a celebration or a comfort for whatever the show throws at us tonight. *hugs everyone in the fandom*

Eliot’s hand tightened in his hair, slipping through the strands and then getting enough purchase to tug, to pull. Quentin gasped and then an instant later moaned as the sharp feeling in his scalp seemed to amplify the feeling of Eliot’s hand stroking his cock. 

“Shh,” whispered Eliot right next to his ear. “Stop thinking. Relax, Q. Just let go.” 

“Mmm,” was the only response he could manage. Words were hard for him during sex. They spun through his head at the speed of light, but they got trapped behind his lips when he was in bed with someone. It made things frustrating for him sometimes: wanting to give feedback, to comment on his partner’s activities, and not feeling able to. Especially at times like this, delicious times when he was all passivity, being done-to instead of doing. It was perfect, except he felt selfish and guilty and wanted to tell Eliot he could stop. That they could move on. That he would blow him or El could fuck him or _anything,_ really. He wondered if El was bored, or if his wrist hurt from the way it bent as he stroked, slowly, lightly, up and down his cock. 

Eliot’s hand pulled his hair, harder this time. Q moaned again. His hips lifted over and over, trying to increase the friction, seeking more, and at the same time content with just this: the lazy brush of El’s hand, the same torturous rhythm over and over. He could feel El hard against his ass, heard the way he hissed when Q ground back against him. 

“You’re being so good and quiet for me, aren’t you?” said Eliot, and the words burned their way through his chest, hot and proud and awakening a deep need for more. “Can’t have anyone hearing you. They’re just down there. If they heard you, they’d look up here, all those Fillorian courtiers, and they’d see you like this, cock out in the night air, riding the lap of their former high king.” Quentin clenched his lips together and gave a long whimper. He could feel eyes on him, the eyes of the revelers below, their conversation and laughter and music uninterrupted by his and Eliot’s debauchery on the balcony above.

He didn’t think anyone in the garden below could see up here. The balcony had a solid stone wall that came up higher than his waist. But that didn’t matter. This was still _public_ and he felt just as exposed as if they were in the throne room on the dais. That image, he and Eliot like this in front of a whole room of people watching intently, made him shiver and thrust even harder against the hand encircling his cock. 

“Would you like it if they knew you were up here?” Eliot continued. “If they could see what a slut you are?” The word hit him like a blow, shame and something hot in his belly driving air from between his lips. “Problem? You are, aren’t you, darling? Letting me do this to you here.” Quentin was shaking now. He didn’t know why. Didn’t care. The pleasure grew, building in his balls and flaring up his cock with each pull, each too-slow not-enough tug that made him want to sob. 

He turned his face as far as he could against El’s neck, reaching, wanting to kiss. But his lips stayed frustratingly out of reach, and so did most of the skin of his throat as well. Eliot shifted, adjusting his weight across his legs. A sharp jerk of his hand pulled Q’s head back, his neck bending back to an almost uncomfortable and dizzying angle. He felt like he might fall, with his shoes barely touching the stone of the balcony, his head staring up at the stars. He was helpless, a doll in Eliot’s arms, to be played with. He couldn’t even lift his hips anymore, so he just let El support him, let him use him, relaxed as best he could and let his mind float in the haze of need and pleasure. 

“That’s it, Q. My Q.” He lost track of time. Or maybe he didn’t. He felt like he could come any moment, and also that he would never come. He wanted Eliot to let go, to speed up, to move on with things, to never stop touching him like that ever. He felt his mouth open, slack, idly wished Eliot could give him something to suck.

And then something changed, his breathing quickening, little sharp gasps shaking him. The fingers moved faster and he was nearly...so...nearly… He still lay helpless against El’s shoulder and arm, fingers digging into the arm of the chair and his own thigh. 

“If you’re quiet, I’ll let you come,” said Eliot and Quentin was fucking done already. He bit his lip as his release exploded from him, hot and thick and heavy and violent, shaking and shuddering his whole frame. Eliot kept stroking him, coaxing every drop, forcing aftershock after aftershock up his spine, his body curled in on itself. 

It was forever before he could catch his breath. Eliot still touched his cock, still lightly stroking him until he squirmed enough in an attempt to get away, the overstimulation getting to him. That seemed to be enough for Eliot, and he finally released his cock. Quentin relaxed back against his chest. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

“You’re welcome, darling boy.” Eliot’s tone remained as dark and velvety as it had been while he’d tormented him and he was reminded of the stiff length pressing against his ass. He slid downwards, out of the arms that held him, off Eliot’s lap and into a crouch on the stone floor. He turned between the elegant legs covered in tight, fitted silk. His eyes were on a level with the unmistakable outline of El’s cock, straining against the fabric and pulling it into diagonal creases. 

“Your turn,” he said with a grin, enjoying the dark eyes above him, how blown his lover’s pupils were in the low light. His hand stroked over the rigid shape and El’s eyes fluttered closed, his mouth opening in silent appreciation. 

It took Quentin too long to get his pants open. They closed with some complicated Fillorian combination of laces and hooks. His hands were shaking a bit by the time he finally jerked them open, afraid he might rip the fabric. Then again, if he did, Eliot would surely punish him, and that...had possibilities. Finally, finally, he got his hands on Eliot’s hard, hard cock and drew the thick length into the night air. He pressed his lips to it hurriedly, his mouth watering, so impatient that his movements were clumsy. In his haste to get it between his lips, his teeth scraped across the head, drawing a sharp hiss from above him.

He drew back at once, mouth falling slack. “Sorry!” Before he could focus on Eliot’s face to see his expression a hand was in his hair, pulling sharply on the strands, sparking pain across his scalp.

They froze there for a moment, shame burning through Quentin, his heart racing. Eliot didn’t say anything and he couldn’t bear to look at him directly, so he just waited, neck aching from the awkward angle. The pressure on his hair lessened and the hand buried itself deeper and closer to his scalp before making another sharp tug. This time Quentin felt it all the way down to his balls, his cock twitching in interest despite his recent orgasm. “Be more careful,” said Eliot mildly before pushing him harshly back into his crotch. 

Why did that make him so turned on? Being pushed around, manhandled, his hair pulled, his breath choked. He didn’t understand why those things made him so hot. Sometimes he thought they were just another way his brain was broken, miswired. But Eliot didn’t seem to object. He seemed not only to know just what would make Quentin go breathless with desire, but to enjoy making it happen. Times like this, though, Quentin wondered if El wished he could just get on with giving him a blowjob instead of getting all worked up over having his hair pulled.

He’d barely gotten his cock back in his mouth before the hand pulled him up and off again. A grunt of complaint left him as Eliot’s cock flopped back against his body. “Q,” said Eliot sternly. “What are you thinking about while you’re sucking my cock?” 

He felt his face flush. He knew his eyes were guilty when they met El’s. He couldn’t come up with words to answer, so he stammered incoherently. Eliot took his face between both hands, his eyes gentling. “Q, darling,” he said. “No worrying while you’re sucking my cock, okay? No thinking. Just do.” Q nodded hastily, gratitude filling him. “And if you’re a very good boy, maybe afterwards I’ll take you inside and fuck you till you can’t even remember how to worry. Would you like that?” Quentin couldn’t nod enthusiastically enough. Just the words were enough to make him forget whatever had been racing through his head before. All that was in him now was wanting. 

After another moment of eye contact to show his sincerity, he pulled away from the hands framing his face and settled back on his heels to get back to work on Eliot’s cock. He directed his mind to the feel of the silky head against his lips, on his tongue, the taste of pre-come as he slid his tongue across the slit and down the underside. Eliot’s hips shifted in appreciation. Quentin moved slowly, deliberately, savoring every extra centimeter as it filled his mouth, the feel of veins as his lips slid across them. Eliot felt huge in his mouth, felt like he filled every possible space from lips to throat. He pulled back when the first touch against the back of his mouth came and then quickly dove back down to take him deep, past the instinctual barrier, into his throat. He stopped, with Eliot’s cock blocking his airway, holding his breath and not moving for as long as possible, until he thought he might pass out, and then finally let himself pull all the way back in a panic, gasping for air. 

“Fuck,” muttered Eliot weakly. “God, Q.” Quentin grinned up at him, proud of making him sound shaken. He wiped away the tears that had gathered in the corners of his eyes and took another deep breath before diving back to do it again. Some part of his mind whispered that he wasn’t using all the tricks he could, that he could make this feel even better for Eliot. But he ignored it, and let his instincts have control. He choked himself on Eliot’s cock over and over again, until he was dizzy and could barely hold himself upright, even on his knees. He tried to go back down for more, but Eliot grabbed at him and stopped him. 

“Q,” he said. “Q. It’s time for me to fuck you now.” The words sent a shudder all the way down his spine. 

“Here?” he asked. The thought was both alarming and titillating. 

Eliot smirked. “You want it here?” He leaned down closer to Quentin and spoke softly. “You want to bounce on my cock right here, not able to make a sound, take me without even any lube? Is that how desperate you are for it?” 

_Yes,_ said a part of him. _Yes, if you ask me to._ Eliot chuckled and Quentin wondered what he’d seen in his face. 

“Come on,” said Eliot, extending a hand to help him to his feet. He pulled Quentin close, away from the balcony’s edge, into the shadows, into a kiss. The embrace held all the things roiling under the surface of their playfulness: the longing, the desperation, the disbelief that they actually got to have this, the fear that it was temporary. All the emotion that had nearly overwhelmed them after Eliot was finally free of the Monster. The games, these games, made it easier. They could focus on their roles, on their fantasies, on how to drive each other wild. Could lose themselves in it. 

And then a moment would come when Eliot’s tongue was in his mouth or his cock in his ass, when they seemed to both remember at the same time, drop the facade and just cling to each other. 

The kiss lasted a long time, until they were both breathless. When he pulled back, Quentin thought he could see moisture in the corners of Eliot’s eyes that matched the sting in his own. “Come on,” said Eliot brusquely, and took his hand and pulled him down the long corridor to their room. 

Quentin obeyed all Eliot’s commands with alacrity, and soon found himself with his face pressed into the mattress, hands behind his back, ass in the air, as Eliot pressed his cock into him slowly but forcefully. He whimpered at the feeling. All he could do was feel, take the pleasure, the pain, the burn, the _sensation_ that was given him. Eliot gripped his wrists in one hand, using that leverage to pull Quentin onto his cock. 

Eliot fucked him hard, steadily, with the faintest edge of desperation. Quentin wanted it to go on forever, the invasion of that thick cock splitting him open, dragging on his most sensitive nerves. Wanted it for hours, until the sun rose. But he could sense Eliot getting closer to coming, hear it in his breath and the way his hand gripped his wrists. For his part, he was hard again, his cock bouncing against his stomach in time with each thrust. He felt like he was constantly getting right up to the edge of orgasm, then receding, each drag of that wonderful cock almost enough, but never getting any closer. He could be fucked like this forever and never come, and it would be amazing. There was nothing but Eliot’s cock, Eliot’s body leaning over him, holding him still, smacking against his ass and thighs. 

And then Eliot’s rhythm faltered: his thrusts turning brutal, and with a loud keening cry he spilled into him. Quentin shook against him, rode through the last snapping thrusts. Then his hands were released and Eliot’s hand was on his cock, and barely needed to do anything before Quentin was shaking apart. He clenched around the still rigid cock inside him and Eliot cried out again, their voices blending together in an extended shout that echoed off the stone ceiling. Quentin’s vision went dark and bright at once and he went limp, held up only by Eliot’s arm across his chest, still pressing them together. 

Eventually they disentangled themselves, and Quentin found himself pressed to Eliot’s chest, arms around him. He smiled against his chest hair. 

“You alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Mmm.” He didn’t want to form words yet. “No. ‘M good.” He pressed a kiss to Eliot’s skin. “So good.” 

“I can get you cleaned up--” Eliot shifted, about to pull away. Quentin locked an arm around his waist and held on tight.

“Uh-uh. Stay.” 

He could hear the smile in Eliot’s voice. “Okay. If you insist.” They lay together in silence for a minute. 

“I love you,” Quentin said, the words almost slipping from him unbidden. 

“Hmm, I love you too, Q,” replied Eliot. “Love you so much,” he said and kissed the top of his head. Quentin smiled, settling into the warmth of the embrace, the quiet of the room, the tired, thrumming peace of his body and mind. 

“Was so good,” he said again, drifting away into the blackness behind his eyes.

“Good,” murmured Eliot into his hair. “Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are what I live for.
> 
> The title is from the song "In Your Room" by Depeche Mode, one of the CLASSIC BDSM songs. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed me projecting all over Quentin in this piece, cause...yeah. If you want to yell about Queliot and what a mess of an anxious sub Quentin Coldwater is, join me on my Tumblr: http://three--rings.tumblr.com


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